Birthday Wishes
by MintSauce
Summary: Future Ian/Mickey fic. It's random, I warn you now.


"If you think I got you a present, you're wrong."

Ian's back arched up off the mattress as Mickey toyed with one of his nipples, twisting it and smirking at the reaction it brought. The ex-con dipped his head and nosed at his ribcage, his lips skimming along Ian's flesh and making him shiver. Mickey shifted slightly until he lay in between Ian's legs and he raised his knees so that his body practically cradled the older man.

Mickey looked up at him through his surprisingly long lashes and his fingers scratched a message into Ian's skin none too gently as he rested his chin just above Ian's bellybutton. Mickey had mellowed out a lot, he didn't seem to be on fire underneath his skin anymore, didn't want to move at a million miles an hour towards nothing in particular. He still wasn't ever as docile as normal people could be, but by Mickey's standards, he was a lot calmer.

Of course, that didn't mean he was gentle. Even though he didn't seem to want to bruise Ian with every single thing he did, with every touch, he still didn't hold back in the slightest. He still liked to press his fingertips into Ian's flesh just a little too hard and he still bit down on Ian's bottom lip when they were kissing and his shoulder when they were fucking. But then, Ian wasn't exactly gentle either and he wasn't saying he minded in the slightest.

They took their time now, their lovemaking – even though Mickey would never let it be called that – wasn't at a million miles an hour, frantic and quick for fear someone was going to walk in and discover them. But that was just something that came with them both having put Chicago behind them. They were in New York now and at least within the safety of their apartment, Mickey would occasionally become affectionate. He wasn't ever going to hold Ian's hand in public, or kiss him where anyone could see, but Ian didn't exactly need him to so it was fine.

Ian had been the first one to move out to New York, had got an apartment while he was at WestPoint and when he'd sent Mickey a plane ticket, he hadn't actually expected the ex-con to use it. But he had. He'd turned up with a duffel bag and a backpack and he'd actually stayed. As far as Ian was aware, neither of them had ever looked back from that. Not even Mickey.

"Didn't expect you to," Ian replied, his voice clogged up with sleep as he reached down and touched Mickey's face gently, sliding his fingers into the side of the ex-con's hair.

Mickey pressed into that touch slightly, even though there was a small smirk on his lips instead of a smile.

"You at least going to say Happy Birthday to me?" Ian asked him, grinning wide enough for the both of them. He used the hold he had on the side of Mickey's head to tug the older man up towards him. Mickey pulled a face, obviously not all that enthralled about moving, because he could still be a lazy fuck like that, but nevertheless he lifted up and crawled over Ian's body towards him.

Back when they were teenagers, Ian could never have imagined them ever being this intimate. Sure, they'd been close enough for Ian to stick his dick up Mickey's ass pretty regularly, but that hadn't been intimacy. The way Mickey raised up on his elbows either side of Ian's head, staring down at him, that was intimacy. The way he could feel Mickey playing with a strands of his hair, one finger stroking aimlessly over his temple, that was intimacy as well.

"Nope," Mickey replied, laughter in his voice.

"Didn't think so," Ian muttered back and leant up to press his mouth against Mickey's. Mickey's taste was something Ian could never get enough of. Even tainted with a slight case of morning breath, it was intoxicating. By now he already had every inch of Mickey's mouth mapped out, but he still relished in the feel of Mickey's tongue sliding over his just as much as he had that first time Mickey had given in and kissed him.

The kiss only stayed gentle for a handful of seconds and then Mickey's fingers tightened in his hair and he crushed their mouths together brutally. Ian pressed his palms against the bottom of Mickey's back, lifting his hips and grinding their naked crotches together.

They kissed just like they fucked, and they fucked just like they fought; brutal and unrelenting, with fingers digging into tender patches of skin and teeth drawing blood. And Ian would never change it, not in any way.

The message went unspoken and they rolled together until Ian was the one pinning Mickey to the bed and he lifted up a little so that Mickey could get his legs either side of his. Mickey wrapped his legs around the back of Ian's thighs, his shins resting across the backs of his knees. And it was so familiar, so natural, that tangle of limbs that Ian found himself smiling against Mickey's mouth.

He reached blindly for the bottle of lube on the beside cabinet and had to break the kiss so that he could lift up enough to coat his cock and press two fingers briefly into Mickey's ass. The ex-con moaned, his body bucking and his head tipping back, revealing his pale throat. Ian couldn't resist dropping his head down for a second and dragging his teeth over that sensitive juncture of Mickey's neck, biting down not quite hard enough to draw blood, but still not gently.

Mickey just moaned.

Recapping the lube he tossed it aside somewhere, made a mental note to find it later and then slid his hands under Mickey's ass, lifting him just enough so that he could press himself inside. He'd been inside of Mickey so many times that he'd lost count years ago, but the tightness and the heat never failed to make his breath stutter each and every time. Mickey's fingernails bit into his shoulders and he hitched his legs up higher until they were locked around the bottom of Ian's back. Mickey squirmed slightly to adjust, but also because Ian's fingers played over the small, faded barely-there scar on his leg from a lifetime ago when Mickey got shot. Mickey always squirmed when Ian touched to scar, but he didn't say anything because he knew how much Ian loved to touch it.

He didn't even know why.

He slid his hands under Mickey's back, behind his head as he started to move, keeping it slow and gentle because this was the only present he was going to get and he wanted it to last. He didn't know why, he just wanted it to last. And for once Mickey didn't actually complain, he just moaned in a sort of broken way against Ian's neck and buried his face into the redhead's flesh to try and stop himself from pulling stupid faces. Ian knew Mickey's reasoning behind everything, it was just something you learnt after spending so much time with someone.

And it had been almost too long. Except it wasn't long enough.

Ian had left Chicago when he was eighteen, but he'd had since he was fifteen to start familiarising himself with Mickey. He was thirty now and sometimes he didn't think it should have been possible for them to have lasted near enough fifteen years. Sure, they hadn't actually been a couple that long, Mickey still wouldn't even admit that was what they were. But Ian had loved him since he was fifteen and he was pretty sure Mickey had loved him just as long back. So it counted.

Mickey seemed to shatter underneath him and he knew he'd hit just the right spot, so he rolled his hips and pushed up with his arms to grin down at Mickey as he repeated the action. Mickey's head fell back into the pillows, his back arching and his fingers clawing at Ian's flesh. The expression on his face could only be described as one of rapture and it was one of the expressions Mickey hated Ian seeing, but he loved it.

He caught Mickey's moan of release in his mouth, crushing their lips together in a kiss as he felt Mickey's cum squirt up between their chests, hot and sticky. He came three thrusts later, while Mickey's muscles were still twitching around him and Mickey was panting erratically into his mouth, both of them too dazed to remember how to kiss.

Mickey laughed when he collapsed against him, not pushing him off like he always would have done when they were younger. He just let them lie there, Ian's dick still in his ass and Ian's arms still around him. "Shit Firecrotch," Mickey muttered, his voice low and husky, so deliciously perfect that Ian was pretty sure he'd be hard again soon if the ex-con kept talking. He pressed his cheek against the side of Ian's neck and Ian could feel the older man's breath hot against his sweat-coated skin.

When he actually had regained enough energy to remember how to use his muscles, Ian lifted up a little and stared down into Mickey's face, grinning. "Take it that means you're not getting bored of me yet," Ian said, his voice teasing as he nosed a line along Mickey's jaw for no reason whatsoever other than he liked the way the ex-con shivered.

"Stop talking shit," Mickey replied and Ian lifted his head just in time to see him rolling his eyes. "Now get the fuck out me," he said, wriggling again and pushing gently against Ian's chest, "I'm hungry."

"There's bacon in the fridge," Ian said, pulling out and rolling off of Mickey, sitting up back against the headboard so that he could watch Mickey stand up. The ex-con cleaned himself up with the tissues that were permanently on the bedside table and stretched. Ian could hear Mickey's back crack, but he was too engrossed in watching the play of muscles in Mickey's back. He was still gorgeous, Ian didn't think he ever wouldn't be.

Mickey didn't bother putting any clothes on, just jumped down the two steps leading up to the raised area their bedroom was on and walked naked across into the kitchen. The entire apartment was open plan save for the bathroom obviously and Ian loved it. He thought their choice probably had something to do with the fact that both he and Mickey had spent their entire lives in cramped, almost claustrophobic houses.

The place wasn't exactly tidy, but then living with Mickey things were never going to be. There were a few dirty dishes in the sink because they hadn't been bothered to wash up last night and beer bottles and cans collected around the couch. Clothes were dotted around the bedroom area on the floor and Mickey's jacket was always thrown over the back of a chair even though it did have a peg.

And the corner kitchen cabinet was always dominated by the cats, Boots and Tipper. Although, Mickey called Tipper, Satan most of the time because they didn't have the best relationship in the world. Boots on the other hand was just too fucking lazy to hate anyone. Both had been scrawny creatures Ian had got without telling Mickey because he felt like the ex-con needed some company while he'd been away serving in fuck knows where.

"Gallagher, stop staring at my ass," Mickey barked over his shoulder, because he never called him Ian, not really.

Ian choked out a laugh and stood up, scratching his belly and rubbing at the patch of Mickey's cum on his chest. He took a shower whilst Mickey cooked, disappointed to find that the ex-con had put on a pair of boxers when he walked back out.

He moved to stand behind Mickey and bent down a little to swipe his tongue across the back of Mickey's neck. He nosed at the bottom of Mickey's dark hair, breathing in the scent of him and smiled for no reason at all.

"Fuck off," Mickey muttered, fidgeting uncomfortably as Ian reached around and slid his hands over Mickey's torso, pulling the ex-con back against his chest. The combination of his skin being still damp from his shower and Mickey's flesh being hot under his hands made him hard in seconds. He didn't even know why. He splayed his fingers against Mickey's stomach, digging his fingers into muscle as he pressed them even closer together, knowing that Mickey could feel his erection nudging insistently against his ass.

He would place money on the fact that that was the only reason Mickey hadn't shrugged him off yet.

Ian nipped Mickey behind the ear and then sucked on the lobe briefly, watching Mickey's hand stray towards the oven's buttons to switch off the grill. But he was a little preoccupied with easing back just enough to let the towel around his waist drop to the floor. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Mickey's boxers and slid them down just enough and he was so hard that he didn't even need to touch himself in order to line himself up, he just had to shift slightly and press forwards.

They both moaned, but unlike the last time, Ian didn't want it slow. He pressed forwards quickly until Mickey's ass was flush against his crotch and after that it was a rough pounding, almost frantic. Just like it had used to be. He held onto Mickey's hips so tightly that his touch had to be bruising, but Mickey didn't complain. Instead, the ex-con pressed back to meet every thrust and his moans became gradually louder until Mickey bit down into his own fist to shut himself up.

Ian let go of Mickey's hips with one hand and reached around to interlace his fingers with Mickey over his cock. Mickey came first, from a combination of Ian slamming himself home and both of their hands tugging on his cock. Ian tumbled over the edge with the things that Mickey's ass was doing to his dick when the other man came.

He rested his forehead against Mickey's shoulder, sweat covering them both know and he snorted because he knew he was definitely going to need another shower. He only stepped back when Mickey prodded him in the ribs and the ex-con smirked at him in a sort of satisfied way when he turned around. "It should be your birthday more often," he said, bending down and wiping his hand on the towel that had previously been around Ian's waist.

They ate the slightly cold and only minorly burnt bacon sitting naked on the couch and decided to conserve water by showering together afterwards since Mickey had thought it would be hilarious to wipe his greasy fingers all over Ian's chest. Just for shits and giggles you know.

Mickey was sprawled out on the couch, using Ian's thigh as a pillow as he flicked through television channels. It was moments like that that someone could really tell that Mickey had mellowed out. Just the way he was letting Ian play with the top of his hair without a single complaint was proof. They both looked at each other expectantly when there was a knock at the door and just when Ian was about to crack, Mickey muttered under his breath and swung his legs off the couch.

Ian listened to the sound of him opening the door, but all he heard instead of words was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a slam as Mickey swung the door closed again. "Mick, what the hell?" Ian twisted around, staring at Mickey who looked like he was about to be sick. He looked like he wanted to run, except to do that he had to go through the door and he didn't seem to want to do that.

"Mick?" Ian climbed over the back of the couch and watched the way that Mickey flinched as Ian opened the door again.

Standing there on the other side was Mandy, Lip and their twin daughters Lucy and Michelle. Ian stared at them for a second, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to work out what the hell he was going to say. Mandy was the first one to recover, "Was that my brother?"

Ian jumped when Mickey slammed the door shut again.

"Mick, we have to let them in," he said, trying to catch Mickey's hand, but the ex-con jerked away.

And Ian could understand why. They'd been careful. They'd only gone back to Chicago individually and whenever one of Ian's siblings came out to see him, Mickey would go stay at a hotel. He was still too terrified of his father or brothers finding out and Ian could understand because he knew what Terry Milkovich was like and if keeping their relationship a secret from Chicago meant he got to keep Mickey, he'd do it with no complaints.

"No we fucking don't," Mickey growled through his teeth, "If we just wait, they'll leave."

Ian felt sick, because it felt like everything was just falling down around him.

"Mickey, I don't think you could have made it look any more suspicious with slamming the door in their faces," he pointed out, even though he knew it probably wasn't the best idea to say so.

Mickey swore low under his breath and kicked the back of the couch. He dragged his fingers through his hair and looked around him, the fight or flight mechanism in his brain obviously kicking in. Ian should have known which way he'd swing.

"What are you doing?" he asked, feeling helpless as he watched Mickey grab his jacket off the back of the chair and stuff his arms through the sleeves even as he jammed his feet into his boots, not even bothering to do up the laces.

"I'm not fucking doing this," Mickey snarled back, the look in his eyes frantic, "I can't do this, sorry, but I just can't." And with that he jerked open the front door and left Ian standing there. And it felt too much like when they were teenagers, when Mickey had broken Ian's heart that time.

The only difference was that Ian knew how Mickey felt now, for definite. They'd been through more. Even Mickey wouldn't throw it all away so quickly. Or at least Ian hoped. But more than anything, Ian wasn't scared anymore. He wasn't scared to chase after what he wanted.

He pushed his way past a startled Mandy and his brother, jogging after Mickey and catching his arm before he'd even gotten to the end of the corridor. He swung Mickey into the wall and pinned him there with a forearm across his chest, pressing close. "They won't care," he said, keeping his voice low enough so that Mandy and Lip wouldn't hear him.

"What fucking world–"

"Do I live in?" Ian finished for him, "Don't even fucking think about saying that to me again." And he knew that the look in Mickey's eyes was guilt, because even though he'd never said so and even though he'd never apologised, he knew Mickey felt guilty about ever saying those words. "You going to say _done is done_ again?" he asked, his voice carrying more venom than he thought it ever had done before, "Or maybe even say I'm nothing but a warm mouth?"

He pushed away from Mickey then, his heart hurting too much in his chest for him to be able to stand being that close to him. He took a step back and felt is mouth twist into a sneer, because otherwise he was going to cry. "You know what, go," he said, the words tasting sour in his mouth and making him feel sick, "But you always knew she was going to have to find out sooner or later, so I don't know why the fuck you're surprised."

Or maybe it was more that he didn't know why the fuck he was surprised that Mickey was even leaving.

"Guess it's my bad I actually thought you gave a shit now."

He was about to turn away, but instead got the wind knocked out of him as Mickey slammed him into the wall hard enough that he really hoped their neighbours weren't in. "The fuck have I told you about talking shit?" Mickey snarled at him, pressing their bodies flush together and forcing Ian hard against the wall.

Even though he was mad at him, Ian instinctively found himself holding on to Mickey. He supposed after fifteen years he was allowed to find certain things natural. "I will when you stop being a dick," Ian muttered back, shifting his lower half a little because Mickey's crotch was pressed against his and from his reaction anyone would have thought that they hadn't already gone twice already.

Mickey snorted, "Wouldn't get your fucking hopes up."

Ian shrugged as best he could with Mickey pinning him against a wall. "Don't leave Mick," Ian said quietly, giving in to the weakness that had always been there, "_Please_." Because unlike Mickey, he knew that Mandy wouldn't care, he knew she'd maybe be a bit shocked, but she wouldn't go running off to tell her other brothers. Mandy wasn't like that.

The ex-con's nod was so small that Ian almost missed it, except the defeat in Mickey's eyes was obvious and Ian sort of knew from that that he'd won. He really wanted to kiss Mickey then, while he looked all nervous and his eyes were wide and Bambi-like, but he knew the chances were he was going to get punched for it, so instead he just smiled and pushed on Mickey's chest lightly so that they could ease away from the wall.

"How long have you been –" Mandy stared at her brother like she thought maybe she was imagining things.

Mickey fidgeted, looking uneasy which Ian supposed was sort of understandable, but he didn't bolt. "A while," he muttered eventually, pushing his tongue into the corner of his mouth and clenching and unclenching his fists.

Ian wanted to take his hand, but he knew that was off-limits anyway. _Especially_ in front of people. Even more so in front of Mandy he was guessing.

"And how long have you to been a. . . thing?"

Ian barked out a laugh because he supposed that was actually a pretty damn accurate way of describing it. What they had, it was a thing. It wasn't really definable – and not only because Mickey refused to define it – but they were definitely a thing.

"You remember back when I was fucking Kash and I told you I'd fucked someone who wasn't Kash and couldn't tell you who it was?" Ian asked her, because he knew Mickey was probably not going to answer and if he did, it wasn't going to be a helpful answer, "Well that was the first time I fucked Mickey."

Mandy stared at him, Lip just smirked. "Ian, that was back when _we_ were fake-dating," she said, staring at him with wide eyes, "You were like fifteen."

Beside him, Mickey was looking like he wanted to be sick. Because there was something worse than admitting he was gay and was fucking Ian and that was that he'd actually had feelings for Ian for a pretty long time. Long enough that it had to be love, because there were no two ways about it.

"Yeah," he said, grimacing a little, because he hated admitting just how long they had been hiding this from her, "It's been a while."

Mandy laughed at that and said, "No shit." She wasn't actually all that mad, which Ian had been expecting and which freaking Mickey the fuck out. Ian could tell from his facial expressions and because he rapidly drank three beers in a row before finally sitting down. The twins were running around the apartment chasing Tipper/Satan, Mandy and Lip were dominating the couch and Ian ended up perching on the arm of the armchair since he doubted sitting on Mickey's lap would go down well with the guy.

"You don't really seem like a couple," Mandy commented after a while, watching them in a way that was sort of creepy.

Mickey flipped her off and Ian smirked.

"Why not?" he asked, because he knew if he gave Mickey a chance to speak, he was only going to be rude.

Mandy shrugged, "Aren't you supposed to cuddle or some shit if you're a couple?" And Ian thought that was kind of hypocritical since her and Lip weren't, but he didn't say that.

"He's nicer when you're not here," Ian replied simply, wincing when Mickey socked him in the ribs. Thankfully, the ex-con did grab a hold of his arm before he could fall off of the arm of the chair. "Why are you here anyway?"

He hadn't realised that question hadn't been asked and he wanted to clear it up so that Mickey didn't somehow blame him later for staging this.

"Thought we'd surprise you on your birthday," Mandy replied simply, but the expression on her face said that obviously she was the one who'd been more surprised. Lip just looked amused that things were still going on between him and Mickey. Which actually, Ian couldn't really blame him for.

They were only staying for the day, but Mandy cooked a late lunch for them since she said that there was no way Ian wasn't having a birthday meal. With her and Lip in the kitchen, Ian slid down into Mickey's lap, straddling the ex-con's thighs and staring down at him with slightly raised eyebrows.

"Told you she wouldn't really care," he said, unable to keep himself from sounding just a little bit smug.

Mickey's fingers dug hard into his hips, but he didn't push him off like Ian had actually been expecting. "Fuck off," Mickey muttered, but he didn't seem to really mean it. He actually seemed to have calmed down slightly now that there was something oddly familiar about his sister cooking not far away. Ian couldn't explain what it was, it was just familiar.

"I'm sorry about what I said before by the way," Ian said, because he felt like he had to, "I don't care about that anymore, I shouldn't have brought it up."

Mickey stared at him for a minute and Ian could tell he was trying to decide between just shrugging it off or actually telling the truth. He chewed on his bottom lip for a minute, worrying a piece of already chapped skin and Ian watched, fascinated even after so many years with Mickey's mouth. "I lied," Mickey said eventually, his eyes doing that Bambi thing again that for some sort of twisted reason had Ian's dick twitching in his pants, "What I said back then, I lied."

He'd never actually said that before, but Ian had already known. He rolled his eyes because he knew Mickey would only tip him off his lap if he made a big deal about it or anything. Digging his fingers into the back of Mickey's neck, he flicked his tongue out to touch Mickey's bottom lip, the tang of blood from Mickey chewing it erupting on his taste buds. He moaned when Mickey sucked it into his mouth.

"You still owe me a birthday present," Ian reminded him, their mouths so close together that Ian was practically kissing Mickey, he was also breathing in the ex-con's air and he could taste him on his tongue. It was intoxicating and addictive.

Mickey snorted softly, his fingertips pressing into Ian's flesh. "Consider me not killing you for this shit your present," he replied, an eyebrow raised like he was just daring Ian to argue.

"You'd miss me too much," Ian said with complete confidence. He was pleased when Mickey didn't even bother denying it.


End file.
